Today marks a few important things. First of all, it’s March now. WOOT.
Second of all, today is the day I would be jumping in cold water for Special Olympics but I did that last year and it was terrifying. I’ll stick to dry land from now on, but I still want to be a part of the event every year, so today I’ll be there helping some braver souls out of the water.
Thirdly, it’s the start of Blog Birthday Month – but more on that later.
And last, but certainly not least, today marks one month since I’ve cut down my dosage on antidepressants. I am now on half the dosage of a medicine I’ve been kinda sorta depending on for the past few years.
How’s it going, you ask? Well, I mean, it’s going.
The main thing I’ve really noticed is my sleep. I’m waking up in the night more now than I was – and not because of the Ghost Lizard (more about him soon…). It’s not back to the significantly disruptive insomnia it was before, but it’s kind of annoying.
But honestly, it’s better than I expected. I was apprehensive as hell about cutting back because I forgot life before that dosage. Not in a bad way, but I guess it was more of a security blanket. Like I knew I’d never get really bad because I had that medicine – Prozac, if you’re feelin’ extra nosy.
So when I made the decision to cut back, I was afraid I’d lose that little cushion. I was afraid that cutting the dosage in half would do the opposite to my emotions, that things would come back doubly strong. I say afraid but I mean anxious, and that, my friends, is why I’m on something in the first place.
Seriously, though, I was unsure what to expect and as a true anxious person, I expected the worst. But it’s not been bad. I think I’ve learned enough from therapy -and life in general – that I can handle what comes at me in a way that doesn’t involve crawling into bed and not wanting to get out for three days. I am learning, without as much medical assistance, what to get bent out of shape about and what to not give a shit about.
I still have bad days, but who doesn’t? I’m human. But my bad days aren’t as bad as I thought they’d be, or as bad as they once were. And silly me thought that wasn’t going to be possible – or was going to take a long, long time – without the help of those extra chemicals to even me out.
We’re (the doctor, the shrink and I) looking at this summer as the time I’ll likely go all the way off. And I’ll probably get scared and anxious and stuff again before that happens because it’s been four years since I’ve been medication-free. But I was different then, I was in a different place in life, in all senses of the word.
But now, I’m older and wiser (ha) and learning to cope on my own. And I think I’ll be OK.